Amelia James Poetry

They say time heals all wounds.
But time alone doesn’t stitch the heart back together.
It doesn’t silence the echoes of betrayal or stitch closed the seams of fractured trust.
Healing is more than days passing—it’s waking up to the same ache,
and choosing, again and again, not to let it consume you.

Some wounds feel like they come with an expiration date,
like there’s a clock ticking, whispering: “Aren’t you over this yet?”
But healing doesn’t follow a straight path. It doubles back,
it meanders, it stumbles, sometimes circling where you swore you wouldn’t return.

The world moves fast, expecting milestones:
forgiveness by year one, indifference by year two, closure by year three.
But there is no set time for when memories stop cutting,
when tears dry up, or when the weight you’ve carried finally dissolves.

Healing isn’t neat. It’s messy, with false starts and setbacks.
One day, you’ll feel invincible,
the next, a single song lyric or familiar smell will send you spiraling.

It’s not weakness to still hurt after years.
It’s not failure to still crave answers you’ll never get.
Healing isn’t about how quickly you move forward—
it’s about how gently you treat yourself when you feel stuck.

Because healing isn’t a race against the past.
It’s learning to breathe in the present, even when the past taps on your shoulder.
It’s making peace with progress that looks like survival,
and survival that looks like taking back your voice, inch by inch.

There’s no clock for reclaiming your story.
No timeline for finding your feet when the ground was ripped out from under you.

Healing is not a deadline—it’s a practice.
And if you’re still here, still trying,
then you’re already further than you think.

Because every time you choose to stay soft where you could be bitter,
every time you choose to rise when the weight feels unbearable,
you’re showing the world—and yourself—what strength really looks like.

Healing is not linear.
But it is yours.
And you’re allowed to take as long as you need.

-Amelia James